


at death's door

by MathildaHilda



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 14:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathildaHilda/pseuds/MathildaHilda
Summary: Death has followed the Mikaelson's throughout history. It's only fair She gets Her say on things.





	at death's door

**Author's Note:**

> It got away from me a liiiitle tiny bit.  
> *looks at word count*  
> Okay maybe a tiny bit

The first time Death encountered the Children of Mikael, was on the day their youngest died. She had appeared as a shadow, flitting across the village that would become Mystic Falls. The young boy She took that day had seen Her, frozen in his tracks and offered Her a kind smile before chasing after his older brother. She Herself had remained still and limp, clad in Her dark robes and blending into the trees. On that day, She had passed through the villagers, silently watching without interfering. The hunter that would die the following week remained unaware of Her and his inevitable fate and the young mother remained oblivious to her murder at the hands, or rather the fangs, of her lover.

She did not interact with anyone until the end of the day came and the littlest one wandered too close to the Wolves. His eyes locked with Her and his brother’s cautioning words grew deaf to his ears, but they held enough force to make Her look up at him. The tone of his words had made it seem like he saw Her, but his eyes were trained on his brother’s back.

He had a hand reached out for him when the Wolf pounced from within the deep of the woods, ripping at the boy’s throat and tearing at his chest.

She caught the boy in one arm, ripping him from his form before the pain could register. Blood still flowed from where the Wolf bit, but his face was too relaxed to seem to register the pain of it. It was his brother’s screams that did it, making him shy away and scream of the unfairness and confusion of it all.

She whispered to him as his brother screamed to him; both begging him to come with them. The boy’s eyes welled up with tears and he wailed when he fell to his knees, reaching for his older brother in the same manner he had always done when the nightmares knocked or when Father’s words were too harsh. As his hand fell on his shoulder, the man’s sobs turned into guttural cries, causing the boy to fall back over the surprise that such sounds could emit from his quiet and thoughtful brother.

She reached out a hand to him and he took it, not staying to hear his Mother’s vow or his Father’s rage or his sister’s and brothers’ weeping.

 

 

She had suspected She would meet them soon enough, but to see them being ripped from Her grasp was something new and frightening, even for Her.

The young one had gone without a word, bloodstained shirt and ripped jugular. These children came to Her with split hearts and torn minds, trying to understand whatever coursed through their veins when they met Her.

She declared it early.

Tainted blood.

Untouchable blood.

She growled, showing the teeth in Her mouth as She fought Nature’s new will. She cursed the Mother for her crime and the Father for taking them from Her.

The first one She noticed was the second eldest son. The Noble One. She approached him without a word, cocking Her head as She sensed the man’s confusion. The confusion of those wrongfully murdered. He muttered about Mother and Father and his siblings; his ramblings showing his concern for their safety. His eyes never really landed on Her. He saw everything else but Her, fighting the cloud in his mind.

When She reached out a hand to his shoulder, he gripped it tightly, studying the pale skin and watched as it faded into bone. He muttered Her name and saw past Her, not seeing.

 _‘Hel’_ he muttered and with a sudden burst of adrenaline that She felt through his grip, he turned and bolted, disappearing into the darkness. A jab to where Her heart would have been caused her to stumble, and She felt how he disappeared. They usually ran, but he  _vanished_  from Her plane.

The others did the same, although not the next to youngest living, currently dead, brother. While his brothers and sister and Father ran for the hills, fighting Her hold of them, he stayed and watched. He watched her with the curiosity of a child and muttered about having heard stories about her. About Her own cruel fate and how She kept Baldr from returning to Valhalla. Her bitterness did not fade at his words and She reached for him faster than She had the others, but  _still, somehow_ , they all escaped Her.

Slipping through Her fingers like eels.

She bellowed at the Witches and Nature, cursing them to misery for not giving up what was rightfully Hers.

 

 

 

It was safe to say that She was far from happy when the Mother came to Her, a hollow face and a gaping hole in her chest where her heart had once been. She stayed behind for a moment, watching if the Mother would disappear as well.

She did not.

She walked up to her without a word, latching onto her hand with bony fingers. She relished in the woman’s scream, damning her to the Anchor.

 

 

 

As She walked through the centuries She saw them. They ran, stayed, watched and even grinned. They grew cockier over the years, less careful. They played with Her and mocked Her by playing with the stakes that could claim their lives, not even trying to hide it.

She, of course, doubted that they were even aware of what they were doing. The way the formerly shy boy held the stake as if it was a toothpick and not the only weapon in existence that could kill him, or the littlest one who became the most ruthless of them all and butchered an entire village in a mere hour. When She found that the oldest brother was repulsed by what they had become, She rejoiced before watching as the dagger dug itself snug into his heart, and She knitted Her brows over the way the younger brother cleaned his hands, scrubbing at the pale skin until it shone a pale pink. The way the older brothers acted made Her look down at Her own hands, watching as they changed between flesh and blood and white bone. She was dirtier than the rest and it was Her very nature.

Just as this was theirs.

 

 

 

She came to think of them as her Deliverers.

It was a childish name, She knew that but nonetheless, She called them that.

Wherever they went, more than a dozen people died, even if the Noble brother tried to hinder too much slaughter. She always wondered why that brother stayed. Why he never moved away, left them alone to live whatever life he could make for himself. And then She thought to Herself that not every family was like Hers. Not every family threw you away and left you to rot in a hole in the ground.

The stories were not true. The Warriors never went to Valhalla. They  _all_  came to Her. Were they deemed good enough, the Others took them. The rest were Hers, because they all belonged to Death.

Throughout the centuries, She watched the oldest take the fewest lives, because he lived the shortest. The second oldest took whenever he needed, and the sister was kinder than the others, even though she would show you her true face if you decided to cross her family. The two younger brothers were Her True Deliverers, killing and butchering for sport before too much attention was drawn and they escaped before Father came.

 He would sneer at nothing when he came, but he always seemed to look right at Her.

 

 

 

When he died, She smiled. He had created what his children became, even the child that was not his. She would have allowed him to pass, but being who She was, She did not. She took advantage of what She was not meant to do, Her ever-changing hands drawing blood from his sunken and burned cheeks, cutting the lip in two and relishing in the blood which fell from his nose.

He had had a thousand years to make amends, to try to become good enough to call himself Father. He had wasted a thousand years to become the very worst of all the monsters he had created and vanquished, not even earning the right for a proper goodbye.

Some deep part of Her hoped the Pup would be a little bit grateful for the art She had created.

 

 

 

She shouted insults to the sky when the Mother escaped, slipping through Her fingers just like her children had done before her. She forced the Doors to Her domain shut, but the magic bridging Life with Her sent Her sprawling. She crawled to Her feet just as the Doors shut, blowing closed with a bang the sound of a gun.

 

 

 

She never really cared about the names until the oldest died. And She learned about it because She asked.

She called him  _‘Fair’_  and he smiled a little before offering Her his hand. She gave him a smile and took it. He fell against Her and She held him, allowing whatever little comfort he could get before he reached the Anchor.

His fate was not Hers to decide.

 

 

 

She was not there to greet the Mother when she came again. She watched her from beyond the trees, allowing her to stumble into the dark and only gripping her when she had fallen a million times.

 

 

 

She was almost frightened when the young one came.

He raved and screamed his throat raw in Her Forest, tearing younglings from their soil and hurling rocks at the sky, all the while calling the names of people She had seen but never known.

She stepped forward when his voice gave out and he sank to his knees, tears creating tracks in the dirt and the ashes upon his face. He had burned too.

She knelt by him and saw what She had seemingly forgotten over the centuries. That he was nothing but a child. His anger was a gift he had presented to the world and a side-effect of what he had become.

Silently, the world had branded him the Unloving one. Staring into his grieving eyes, She saw that he was not. It was masked, but not lost.

He was grieving for the brother the others sought to destroy with his own death and the deaths of his Sirelings.

She nodded and smiled hollowly when he begged Her to bring Niklaus to him and his brother. He would never tell either of his brothers this. He would never have to.

 

 

 

Niklaus never came.

His body burned, but his life did not end, and he remained the same creature he had always been meant to be.

She watched the last brothers converse about the fate of a child, and She watched Niklaus condemn the world and his brother and the awaiting mother-to-be. She watched as he walked away and then return in a figurative way.

She watched them fight and She watched him curse his brother to a dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

She watched the brother awaken and She watched them fight again, the sister and the son mere bystanders in their endless dance.

It almost gladdened Her when the little Mother came to Her, even if the only thing it did was make them grieve together.

The little Mother caused her lacking heart to break, what with the way her eyes were wide and full of tears and pain and the way her arms searched for the weight of a child.

She wanted to tell her that She did not want the child and would not be given her today, but such privileges couldn’t be.

She touched the Mother’s cheek and she vanished, and She felt it through the touch that the Mother had not gone deeper.

 

 

 

The Father stood idly leaned against the Door, a smile playing on his burned lips. She felt it through the earth and through the air that the man would not be staying long.

His pale eyes caught the light of the moon and She thought for only a moment that the man might not be a monster. But it was not true. The man was a monster through and through, perhaps not to Her, but to a little boy running scared in New Orleans.

She told him so, and his smile never wavered. Instead, he nodded and said his replies. That he was not the monster at the end of their book. That that monster was the beast he had called son for a thousand years, despite the knowledge telling other stories.

The Pup was not his, and yet still he called him son.

Family was, and always will be, a complicated matter.

The man gazed at Her ever-changing face, a spark of wonder lighting up his eyes. He told Her a name of a girl and he asked Her where she was. She only smiled. Toying with a man and his thoughts was perhaps the most fun She had had in the last century.

She did not have the landowner’s daughter. She had watched the little one slither by, but never interacted with her. Never cursed her existence as She had the girl’s family.

She let the Father go with an angry fire burning behind his eyes.

 

 

 

The Mother shifted before Her in a pale blue light, her laughter echoing in the Forest. She told that she was going back and added that she was going to make it right. At this, She smiled and looked away. No matter what the Mother did, nothing would ever be done right.

 

 

 

The brothers came together.

Not hand in hand, but the little one had a smile on his lips. The elder brooded and reached for Her hand.

If it was in thanks or grievances, She did not know.

 

 

 

She knelt by them when the little one passed again.

Two brothers and a sister and a lover grieved and avenged what the _fair_  one had done, all the while She knelt aside from them, reaching for the little one’s hand.

He took it with pain in his eyes and a bloody smile on his lips.

 

 

 

She watched with fascination as the Father pierced Niklaus’ heart, and even more so when he did not burn.

She watched as the bastard son held it tightly against his Father’s heart, begging for answers he had sought long ago. She watched the lost daughter grieve and her little brother hold her tight.

She did not grieve with her when her Father burned for the last time.

 

 

 

The Mother came once again and left just as quickly, and a part of Her knew it was for the last time.

The Mother came with her sister in hand, the raven-haired woman with eyes wide as two full moons. She was frightened, She decided.

The woman with a star for a name smiled a smile worthy of her name and took Her hand in hers with a friendly warmth. She had perhaps not felt warm since the sun was obscured from Her and the moon became Hers, and Hers alone.

She felt the sister through her touch where she held her in her other hand. The woman’s touch was as light as flower petals.

The Mother whispered a promise to the night, a promise she had given her children and that her children had given to themselves. She didn’t believe in promises but didn’t say a word as the two vanished.

She didn’t tell them that forever was an awfully long time.

 

 

Niklaus and his brother came to Her, flickering about like ghosts. They were there at the same time as they were not, and She watched them with childlike curiosity.

Niklaus had come to Her as a frightened child many centuries earlier. So too had his brother.

They had grown up under Her watchful hand, and they had changed far too much for Her to recall all the differences. One was still as noble as he had been the day he died. The other was still frightened of what those who feared him could do.

Niklaus came once again after his brother disappeared, his face lined with black and his eyes full of pain. His brother didn’t come, and he screamed in both fear and pain as the water dripped from his clothing.

She could be kind, so She was, cupping his cheek and holding his gaze with Hers. He whimpered at the sight of Her but did not withdraw.

There was too much love inside a frightened child. She wanted to show him what his Father had looked like in death but couldn’t as he was snatched from Her fingers moments later.

She was left holding the mirage of a ghost, all black veins and blue eyes.

 

 

When the son died, he came with more rage than the littlest brother. He was not going to stay, so She approached him with as much caution a being of Her standard could. A scream of pain parted his lips and he fell to the ground by Her feet, watching Her with a missing heart and a hollow soul.

His hands were folded in an odd sort of prayer, and She looked at him with amusement. The son was ever-changing, as was the teeth in his mouth. She knelt by him and cupped his face, cold bone meeting wet flesh, and he drew a breath of fear.

She asked him what he feared. He replied he did not fear Her. She smiled in spotting the lie. The rage from the betrayal coursed through his empty veins, and it was hot enough to burn Her, but She did not remove Her hand.

She told him that forgiveness was earned, never given, and he stared at Her with eyes filled with confusion. Her smile grew broader at that.

He disappeared in a mist, his eyes an odd shade of green.

 

 

 

They reshaped their oldest brother just in time for him to die and the littlest brother came back in time to see it.

The sister and her little brothers wept and swore vows over his dying form, all the while their youngest remained oblivious to the Shakespearean act happening in their home.

The art of dying with mercy seemed lost to the creatures of the night, especially when the oldest of them was born to burn bright and then no more. The fair brother had gotten more than he wanted and for that he laid suffering.

He greeted Her with a smile once again, and if She was allowed to love, She loved this boy above all the others.

 

 

 

Those boys would have been easy gifts.

They both shook with the same fever and pain as their brother, but they refused to die.

She touched the Noble brother’s face, earning frightened eyes and a sharp breath Her way. He did not see Her, and his fear made Her smile.

She might have changed over the centuries since Her creation, but what had not changed was Her love for the dead and contempt for the living.

She suspected that the little one saw Her, what with the way his eyes flickered, and the visions caused him to shriek profanities She had never understood and never would. She supposed he saw Her among the dead. Had She touched him he would have torn the world apart.

The way they all clamored for life was a mystery to Her above anything. She had long since given up on their creation, but She could never free Herself from life.

In theory, the little family was dead. In theory, they were only alive because Nature said so, and She was too weak or pathetic to do anything about it.

 

 

 

When they awoke, She stood to the side and sighed, watching with contempt as they went about.

A more pressing matter came when Her plane shook and ripped apart, trying to contain the spirit of literate nothing.

She had been relieved when the Witch had come at first but frightened all the same. Her Forest had shaken and bled, and the little Witch had laughed when they had met. She had gone without a word and a smile on her lips.

When the Forest had calmed and silenced, She found Her own hands shake in anger and fear.

When the Forest shook once again, and the dirt bled as well, She found Herself with shaking hands and a torn mind. She had no answer to the questions the Children asked.

 

 

 

She was smiling somewhat sadly when the boy came, a hole in his back and with sunken eyes. He would not be staying long, but he stayed long enough for Her to see.

See the pain and fear of what he was.

He spoke of family and honor, nobility and hatred. She spoke of defiance and loss, knowledge and corruption.

They told the other of what they had seen, and She watched his mind skitter away and hide. She would hold his soul until judgment came, but his mind was not Hers to keep.

She told him what She knew, and he returned the favor, but She did not tell him of the things he couldn’t do. She did not tell him of the things to come, and the loneliness that would crush his dead heart.

When the little Mother came and brought him back, She did not go to watch them tear the spirit apart, but She heard the Witch’s screams.

His little soul pulsed white and pure in Her hand, a sign that innocence was yet not lost.

 

 

 

The boy’s mind came skittering through Her Forest on occasion over the years, all in the form of a child with a lanky frame and eyes wide with fear.

She didn’t see what he was afraid of, but She suspected that it wasn’t just Her, if Her at all, that frightened him so.

When She called out to him, the one true thing that still roamed Her domain, he looked up enough to give Her a faltering look before he turned and ran away. He always came back, and She supposed that the pulsing white light buried in the hole of a tree not far away, was what kept him there.

 

 

 

A Wolf ran across Her grounds and She couldn’t remember the last time She had taken such a young Wolf until the Wolf stopped and howled, its cry echoing between the trees. It sounded unimaginably sad and so She followed it until She found the little Mother buried under ashes and leaves.

Embers burned in her eyes and her skin was red and grey and her fingers dug the earth. Her pain was palpable, pulsing toward Her and even without quite knowing what had happened, She took her hand and the Wolf stopped its howling.

The Mother looked to Her with pain and grief in her eyes and She watched as the Wolf pounced and disappeared, the Mother nothing but grey ash on a forest floor.

 

 

 

She watched the Family more closely after that. She watched the light from the tree slip away and heard the Noble’s screams and She breathed in the littlest Wolf’s pain.

The Child came to Her in flickers, her form blue and black and white, running about the woods searching for her mother. She did not find her until much later, when her heart stopped, and her father begged, and She could see how the Child’s mother eyed the forest for Her.

She did not claim the Child, nor would She, and stood idly by until her father took her place.

She found that it was not fair that the brothers should die, and she didn’t quite understand why. The brothers did not die mad and they died together, hands pressed tightly around stakes of oak.

Embers floated in New Orleans that night and two boys found themselves in a forest they’d seen before.

They knew Her before they knew it themselves and She refused them the smile She had imagined before. Niklaus had the nerve to look confused while his brother’s eyes widened as he remembered. He pointed out the tree to Niklaus and his mouth fell wide and open as he saw the great White Oak standing by the clearing, its middle hollow and dark.

Its leaves rustled in a wind neither could feel, and She stepped up until She was close enough to touch. The itch in Her fingers felt like something else than the itch to claim them, but She held Her fingers poised and waiting until the two had finished gawping.

Niklaus asked what was to come. Not to him, but to his daughter. To the little girl he left behind.

That was when She smiled, all white teeth and bone and flesh and blood, Her hood as dark as the night about them.

She had watched them for a thousand years.

She could watch them a thousand more.

**Author's Note:**

> It's written as canonically as I could get it in the Mikaelsons' history, so every death in this story are in their spot, but some events might've shifted a bit. Also, FYI, I haven't seen the final episodes of the show but have a basic understanding of what happened. Not 100%, but close enough (I hope)
> 
> I wrote Death to try and match the Anchor, and that once the Anchor was gone she sort of took that spot (although she doesn't send anyone to the Other Side).
> 
> ***
> 
> Finn - "white" or "fair", hence Death's name for him.
> 
> Hel, or Hela - the Norse goddess of Death who ruled over Hell, or Helheim, and kept Baldr from going back to life when she wanted every dead and living thing to cry for him. Everything except for a giantess cried and Baldr had to stay in Hell until after Ragnarök. She was also said to be beautiful and alive on one side and dead, or a skeleton, on the other and was given a portion of the dead.


End file.
